Foul and Damaging Weather

We had our share of both with Hurricane Matthew. 

In looking at the damage afterwards, we were pretty sure we saw indicators of tornadic activity.  The marked and definitive paths of destruction.  Trees twisted from their roots.  One house leveled; the next one untouched.  We’ve seen tornado behavior and felt certain that more than one had touched down during the hurricane.

Living through Matthew brought back memories from an event over 40 years ago.  As a result, the following came to mind:

The sky was black.   At  4:10 PM.  On April 3, 1974.   In Dayton, Ohio.

We knew why.  We were used to tornado warnings and watches.  We weren’t a full-fledged, designated, tornado-alley but we were close enough.

The weather forecasters always got carried away with themselves and, almost always, overreacted.   So we, naturally, under-reacted.  We became cavalier about the whole thing.  So very “here-we-go again.”  Sure, we  listened to the weather stations and stayed alert for the tell-tale “freight-train sounds.”   But we never gathered  supplies, batteries, blankets, children or anything else because the worst had never come to pass.

On that day, April 3rd, in 1974,  as the tornado sirens were wailing, we were outside, watching the wind direction, looking for unusual cloud formations and fallen tree limbs, but we weren’t scared.  It really was business as usual.

Later, when it seemed everything had blown over, we  went back inside, did our normal every-day things, and went to bed.

What we didn’t know until the early morning was that a small town just slightly east of us had suffered the brunt of an F -5 Tornado.  It touched down at 4:40 pm and destroyed much of the town.  34 people were killed; 1500 injured.   Massive, massive attack by Mother Nature.

Those are the facts.  Readily available on Google.  “The Xenia Tornado.”    All the reports say it better than I could.

But I’m the only one who can say what follows.   And I’m not proud of it.

Among the things our family did that night was pack our bags.  In readiness for our annual trip to the Low Country.  We were excited, always ready to get our feet in the sand and the sea.

We’d be on the road the next morning by 7:00 am.  Just as we always were.

We got up early.  Made last minute checks for the trip.   The phone rang about 6:00 am.

It was a Red Cross volunteer.  And through her I quickly learned of the devastation and disaster that had struck, so close to home.  She asked if I could/would join the others who were gathering to go to Xenia and help those whose homes, families, businesses, and lives had been totally destroyed.

Now, here’s the bad part.  The part I’m ashamed of.

I quickly told her that our family was on its way to Hilton Head Island for our annual vacation and that I would be unable to help.

And I hung up the phone.

Those words, my thoughtless words, haunt me to this very day.